Read Online Godplayer by Robin Cook - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Robin Cook
Tags: Mystery
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interested Thomas, now it held no appeal whatsoever. He’d keep his practice, his autonomy, his income, and his sanity. Thomas knew if he went fulltime it would only be a matter of time before he was told who he could and who he could not operate on. Before long he’d be assigned ridiculous cases like the poor mentally retarded kid in the cath room.
Tense and angry, Thomas went into the dressing area and opened his locker. As he pulled off his scrub clothes and tossed them into the hamper, he recalled Laura Campbell’s pliant body pressed against his own. It was a welcome and pleasant image and had the effect of mollifying his frazzled nerves. Ever since he’d left the OR, his pleasure in operating had dissipated, leaving him increasingly tense.
“As usual, you did a superb job today,” said Larry, noting Thomas’s grim face and hoping to please him.
Thomas didn’t respond. In the past he would have loved such a compliment, but now it didn’t seem to make any difference.
“It’s too bad that people can’t appreciate the details,” said Larry, buttoning his shirt. “They’d have a totally different idea of surgery if they did. They’d also be more careful who they let operate on them.”
Thomas still did not say anything, although he nodded at the truth of the comment. As he pulled on his own shirt, he thought of Norman Ballantine, that white-haired, friendly old doc whom everyone loved and applauded. The fact of the matter was that Ballantine probably shouldn’t still be operating, although no one had the nerve to tell him. It was common knowledge in the department that one of the chief thoracic resident’s jobs was to assign himself to all of Ballantine’s cases so that he could help the chief when he blundered. So much for academic medicine, thought Thomas. Ballantine, thanks to the residents, got reasonable results, and his patients and their families worshipped him despite what went on when the patient was anesthetized.
Thomas had to agree with Larry’s comment. He also thought that it would be infinitely more appropriate if he, Dr. Thomas Kingsley, was chief. After all, he did most of the surgery, for God’s sake. It was he, more than any other single person, who had made Boston Memorial the place to have any cardiac surgery. Even Time magazine had said as much.
Yet Thomas did not know if he wanted to be chief any longer. At one time it was all he could think about. It had been one of his driving forces, pushing him on to greater efforts and more personal sacrifice. It had seemed part of a natural progression, and colleagues had started talking about it while he was still a fellow. But that was quite a few years ago, before all the administrative bullshit had reared its ugly head and showed just how much it could interfere in his practice.
Thomas stopped dressing and stared ahead into the distance. He felt an emptiness inside of him. Comprehending that one of his long sought-after goals was potentially no longer attractive was depressing, especially when the goal was finally within his grasp. Maybe there was no place to go ... maybe he’d reached his apogee. God, what an awful thought!
“I’m awfully sorry to hear about your wife,” said Larry as he sat down to put on his shoes. “It really is a shame.”
“What do you mean?” asked Thomas, pronouncing each word with deliberate precision. He took immediate offense that a subordinate like Larry would presume to be so familiar.
Larry, oblivious to Thomas’s response, bent to tie his shoes. “I mean about her diabetes and her eye problem. I heard she’s got to have a vitrectomy. That’s terrible.”
“The surgery is not definite,” snapped Thomas.
Hearing the anger in Thomas’s voice, Larry looked up. “I didn’t mean it was necessarily definite,” he managed. “I’m sorry I brought it up. It must be difficult for you. I just hoped that she was okay.”
“My wife is perfectly fine,” said Thomas angrily. “Furthermore,
Tense and angry, Thomas went into the dressing area and opened his locker. As he pulled off his scrub clothes and tossed them into the hamper, he recalled Laura Campbell’s pliant body pressed against his own. It was a welcome and pleasant image and had the effect of mollifying his frazzled nerves. Ever since he’d left the OR, his pleasure in operating had dissipated, leaving him increasingly tense.
“As usual, you did a superb job today,” said Larry, noting Thomas’s grim face and hoping to please him.
Thomas didn’t respond. In the past he would have loved such a compliment, but now it didn’t seem to make any difference.
“It’s too bad that people can’t appreciate the details,” said Larry, buttoning his shirt. “They’d have a totally different idea of surgery if they did. They’d also be more careful who they let operate on them.”
Thomas still did not say anything, although he nodded at the truth of the comment. As he pulled on his own shirt, he thought of Norman Ballantine, that white-haired, friendly old doc whom everyone loved and applauded. The fact of the matter was that Ballantine probably shouldn’t still be operating, although no one had the nerve to tell him. It was common knowledge in the department that one of the chief thoracic resident’s jobs was to assign himself to all of Ballantine’s cases so that he could help the chief when he blundered. So much for academic medicine, thought Thomas. Ballantine, thanks to the residents, got reasonable results, and his patients and their families worshipped him despite what went on when the patient was anesthetized.
Thomas had to agree with Larry’s comment. He also thought that it would be infinitely more appropriate if he, Dr. Thomas Kingsley, was chief. After all, he did most of the surgery, for God’s sake. It was he, more than any other single person, who had made Boston Memorial the place to have any cardiac surgery. Even Time magazine had said as much.
Yet Thomas did not know if he wanted to be chief any longer. At one time it was all he could think about. It had been one of his driving forces, pushing him on to greater efforts and more personal sacrifice. It had seemed part of a natural progression, and colleagues had started talking about it while he was still a fellow. But that was quite a few years ago, before all the administrative bullshit had reared its ugly head and showed just how much it could interfere in his practice.
Thomas stopped dressing and stared ahead into the distance. He felt an emptiness inside of him. Comprehending that one of his long sought-after goals was potentially no longer attractive was depressing, especially when the goal was finally within his grasp. Maybe there was no place to go ... maybe he’d reached his apogee. God, what an awful thought!
“I’m awfully sorry to hear about your wife,” said Larry as he sat down to put on his shoes. “It really is a shame.”
“What do you mean?” asked Thomas, pronouncing each word with deliberate precision. He took immediate offense that a subordinate like Larry would presume to be so familiar.
Larry, oblivious to Thomas’s response, bent to tie his shoes. “I mean about her diabetes and her eye problem. I heard she’s got to have a vitrectomy. That’s terrible.”
“The surgery is not definite,” snapped Thomas.
Hearing the anger in Thomas’s voice, Larry looked up. “I didn’t mean it was necessarily definite,” he managed. “I’m sorry I brought it up. It must be difficult for you. I just hoped that she was okay.”
“My wife is perfectly fine,” said Thomas angrily. “Furthermore,